


new light

by masongrey



Series: rpdr chaptered au's [1]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Angst and Humor, F/M, Give it a try, High School Theatre AU, Humor, Lots of Angst, M/M, Theatre, drag race still exists but none of them are on it, love triangles to the moon and back, teenage romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 00:24:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4458242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masongrey/pseuds/masongrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a cliche-ridden, sappy-ass high school theatre AU about love, laughter and spotlights. </p><p>OR the other fairly self-indulgent AU with the most cameos where nothing is as it seems and everything is about theatre.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a cast of characters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Huruhara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huruhara/gifts).



> Hello, so I haven't posted in a while. I'm definitely in the middle of writing at least four things right now (the next chapter of siren's call and all the chaptered stuff on my tumblr included) but I really couldn't help but write/post this. It's a slightly crack-fic/self indulgent/cameo ridden comedic AU where RuPaul's drag race exists but nothing is the same and Visage High is the place to be if you're a dorky kid who loves theatre. I have literally no plan with this, so we'll see wherever the hell it takes me. This is all fiction, none of this is real, any resemblance to actual events or people is purely coincidence. Don't sue me, I'm hella poor. 
> 
> I'm gifting this to my darling Huruhara who has given me oodles of support. My dear, you asked for something funny like two months ago. Here it is, sorry that it's so weird and that it took so damn long. Enjoy! <3

**glossary of common theatre terminology**

follow spot- a moveable and hand worked spotlight that is usually located in the catwalks and is used to target specific beams of light onto a stage

catwalk- a slang term for a network of platforms that hang from the ceiling of most auditoriums; this is where lights are often hung, and spare set pieces are often stored

calling cues- the main job of a stage manager, calling cues is basically a way to make sure that the light and sound effects and the set changes happen on time

thespians- an international organization and honor society that allows young people to achieve and compete in theatre

troupe- the common word for a group of thespians (otherwise known as "Drama Club")

techies- a slang word for those involved in teh technical aspects of theatre production

ninja/run crew- a slang term refering to the group of techies that make set changes; called ninjas because they often dress in all black so as not to be seen by the audience

crew chief- someone who is responsible for making sure that every part of the show that falls under their crew's jurisdiction (hair and makeup, sound, light etc) gets done and done correctly

* * *

**New Light; a cast of characters**

Visage High Faculty

Mr. Joshua Eads- A pudgy, middle aged, asthmatic, chain-smoker for Christ with a long ponytail of reddish-brown hair who serves as the vocal coach/co-mentor of troupe 2675. He's got a sharp tongue and a short temper but he means well.

Mrs. Bianca Del Rio- The troupe momma bear and director. She's known for wearing a bit too much eyeliner, being snappish, following every compliment with an insult, keeping everyone on their toes, dishing out superb hugs and getting into fights with other faculty members that say bad things about her students. She goes fondly by Rio or Bee.

Mr. Santino Rice- The district arts director/retired football coach who has no idea what he's talking about and constantly makes bad choices. Everyone just wants him to shut the fuck up with his no theatre knowledge mouth.

 

Visage High theatre students 

Jason Dardo- Our main character, Jason is a young techie with aspirations in the fashion industry, but a chain that attaches him to a follow spot. He's hot and he knows it and he may be slightly obsessed with MAC cosmetics, soccer boys, Matt James and RuPaul's Drag Race. The secretary of troupe 2675.

Matthew James Lent- Hair crew chief and troupe treasurer, Matt is a slightly douchey boy with a slow smile, bedroom eyes, and a strange affinity for cats, Jason Dardo and weed. When he isn't onstage, he's either carelessly fucking Matthew Sanderson, smoking in the second floor handicap bathroom or making relatively false promises to Jason.

Wendell Dent- A goofy, sloppy, pimply boy that enjoys the casual milkshakes and even more casual college girls. He loves nothing more than doing tech and bothering Jason Dardo.

The Jinkx Monsoon- A nerdy, narcoleptic, genderqueer creature that feels most comfortable on the stage. They enjoy fucking with people's perception of binary gender, doing drag in their grandmother's clothes and lusting over the beautiful Ivy Winters.

Kurtis Dam- Fierce stage manager extraordinaire who raises chickens for FFA on the side when he's not busy calling cues, chugging coffee, and helping fix people's makeup. Sort of a dork, slightly in love with Patrick Mikkelsen.

Patrick Mikkelsen- A young, budding actor with a devilish smile, a head of fluffy, feather-like hair who raises cows for FFA and has a strong affinity for Kurtis and his chickens.

Brian Firkus- The soundboard guy. If you want to pick a fight with a techie, don't let it be him. He will fuck up your solo, little girl. He enjoys making people feel insignificant, Brian McCook, being somewhat inspirational, eating nachos, playing Pokemon and addressing people by their last names. Fun Fact: Brian Firkus once had to go onstage last minute during a performance of Rocky Horror. Another Fun Fact? He killed it.

Max Malanaphy- Vice President of the troupe, Max is a self proclaimed Hollywood starlet that was born in the wrong time. Loves gray hair, sounding British and opening night. He's gone out trick-or-treating as the queen of England since he was seven years old. Max is also slightly obsessed with RuPaul's Drag Race.

Brian McCook- Brian is known throughout Visage High for his spot on Arnold Schwarzenegger impression, and his weird sense of humor that resembles that of a five year old on crack cocaine. Brian McCook loves acting, the idea of communism, chocolate chip cookies, speaking Russian to fuck with people, twerking and Brian Firkus' ass.

Alyssa Edwards- One of the troupe's most celebrated members, Alyssa is the extremely Texan student choreographer for all things musical. She may not be a damn seamstress, but you can find her in the costume closet helping Ivy find shit for people to wear when she isn't in the dance studio working on a new number. Currently in the middle of a huge feud with “mediocre model and backstabbing in the back dorito-bitch” Coco Montrese.

David Petruschin- The president of the troupe, David is a self-proclaimed bad bitch who enjoys cigarettes, spitting in the Cunt Club's face, reading people to filth, petting his dog and hugging people that he loves. When he's not performing his presidential duties, he's busy designing and applying the troupe's makeup and casually obsessing over RuPaul's Drag Race with Jason and Max.

Courtney Act- The troupe's most loveable Australian diva, she's a musical theatre goddess in her own right. Courtney's dream is to one day be a judge on American Idol. Aesthetic wise, Courtney is a republican's wet dream, but when she opens her fiery, highly opinionated mouth she tends to send the bigots running. Fun Fact: if she could get away with it, she would just come to school swaddled in a fuzzy blanket and nothing else. Not for sex purposes, just for sleep. And convenience.

Ivy Winters- A sweet young girl with a jawline for days, a smile for months and costume design skill for years.

Jay Jackson- The troupe's resident weed dealer, stoner, and drama queen extraordinaire mawma! Assistant student choreographer, okurr?

Danny Noriega- A cuddly, clingy, often drunk, very often stoned boy who likes cats, lipstick, being a fucking mermaid/chola/bitch, eating pizza, singing in musicals and shouting 'party!' in an attempt to lighten up tense situations. It usually works. He's the house and publicity director of the troupe, a budding starlet and practically Rio's grandchild.

 

Other Visage High students

Sawyer Burns- Sawyer plays soccer for the Visage High Vipers. He has a thick jaw, bright eyes and a sparkling smile. He loves supporting the theatre program and staring at Jason Dardo's ass. Those two things may or may not be integrally connected. He will become important soon.

Sam Walsh- Sawyer's teamate on the Vipers and also his best friend on the team.

Serena Chacha- Sawyer's on again, off again girlfriend that doesn't know when to shut the fuck up. The HBIC of Visage High's Cunt Club. Fun Fact? Every theatre kid is united in their collaborative hatred of her.

Coco Montrese- Serena Chacha's right hand bitch. Coco enjoys spray tans so intense that she looks like a dorito that had sex with an orange on top of the sun.

Phi Phi O'Hara- Serena Chacha's left hand bitch. Phi Phi enjoys cosplay, money and starting drama in an attempt to make herself look better. It usually doesn't. Self-proclaimed sacrificial lamb of Visage High's Cunt Club. She's not such a bad bitch, she's just misunderstood. Promise.

Tatianna- No one knows her last name, not even teachers. She might not even exist. She's probably just made out of condoms, high school boy's wet dreams, lube, spit and a vagina. She's the treasurer of Visage High's Cunt Club.

Dan “Milk” Donigan- Milk is head over heels in love with Courtney Act, but is far too weird and shy to ever say anything about it. When he was six, he laughed so hard in class that he spit milk out of his nose. He's never been able to live the nickname Milk down. Sure enough, over the years Milk has developed a strange love/hate relationship for all dairy products.

Matthew Sanderson- Likes cosmetic surgery, weed and Matt James. Dislikes being professional, having eyebrows and intimate sex. The self-proclaimed homewrecker of Visage High. He's over it.

Michael Feliciano- Michael is a curvy, sassy, bitchy boy that hates Matt James with a fiery passion and may or may not be desperately in love with Matthew Sanderson. Not that he'll ever admit it. He's the unofficial social media director of the Visage High Cunt Club and consequently the only member without a vagina.


	2. act one, scene one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a tech run, a text message and an anonymous note

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so basically hell week is the week directly before the show opens, when you have your scrambley last minute tech work, your dress rehearsals and tech cue to cue's, your freaking out actors and your stressed out and tired beyond belief directors. it's super stressful and crazy. If there's any more terminology that is confusing, let me know in the comments and I will add it to the glossary <3

Jason fiddles aimlessly with the shutter lever on his follow spot.

He swings the lever open and closed, dragging the light left and right and flashing deep purple over the walls of the Visage High auditorium/ He illuminates everyone, from the random, scurrying freshmen run crew who dodge and dart away from the sudden glow of the light, to the seasoned musical veterans who lounge near the base of the stage and bask in the occasional warmth of the spot, to the hyperactive choir girls who flit around giggling and whispering about this or that. Finally he hits his mark, his light catching on a wiry boy who dons a black jumpsuit, a headset and a fierce slash of red lipstick.

With a grin, Jason switches his wireless headset's microphone off so as not to blast the ears off of every techie in the joint.

“Kurt- _is_!” He calls, switching the light from purple to a swarthy red hue.

“Jase? That you?” Kurtis squints against the light, shielding his eyes with his clipboard.

“I am not the boy you are looking for,” Jason intones deeply, fading the light out to a murky blue. Below, the fiery five feet six inches of stage manager sets his hand on his hip, narrowing his eyes.

A thick, stocky boy wearing a midnight blue suit bounds up behind Kurtis, splaying his long fingers out to cover the other boy's eyes.

Jason bites his lip and groans softly as he rolls his eyes: seventy percent disgust, ten percent envy and twenty percent love.

“Patrick!” Kurtis shrieks, shooing the boy away with his clipboard. “Down, boy!”

Patrick laughs and steps back, adjusting his spirit gummed mustache smugly.

“I just got finished with my eyes!” Kurtis whines as he spins around and blinks up at Patrick coyly, proudly displaying his trademark swooping winged eyeliner.

“My lady.” Patrick bows nobly.

Jason smirks and slowly blends the light back into a sultry red.

Kurtis giggles up at Patrick, folding his hands behind his back and shooting Jason the bird while pretending to adjust his headset. Jason grins and clicks his headset mic back on, only to start whisper-singing _Can you feel the love tonight?_ into it.

Kurtis winces, swiping his set off of his ears.

Up in the booth the chief sound technician Brian Firkus, while miming choking noises, draws up the slider to full blast and switches the mic on Jason's headset to the main speaker channel, suddenly blaring Jason's ballad through the whole auditorium.

Patrick covers his ears, thrashing around like a regular moron having a regular epileptic seizure. The choir girls point up at Jason and chirp snidely. The freshmen gesture vaguely to Patrick and Kurtis and blush.

As soon as Jason processes what's happening, he snaps his mouth shut, the last syllables of the song bouncing around for a moment before tall, pale Max Malanaphy bolts onstage from the dressing room in a dark suit, heavy stage makeup and a gray wig, to shout “Encore!” into his stage mic at the top of his lungs. If everyone thought Jason whispering while the mic on his headset was turned up to full volume was bad. . .

“Malanaphy!” Firkus calls from the booth, staying true to his annoying habit of addressing people by their last names.

“Yes, God?” Max blinks and poses in a highly theatrical way, trying and succeeding to calm Firkus' raging ego.

Brian sighs, rubbing his forehead.

“Save it for the sound check, alright? Dardo, shut the fuck up, and, Mikkelsen put a fracking mic on and get your hand out of Dam's pants, alright?”

At the same time, Mr. Eads, the balding, pudgy choir teacher and singing coach extraordinaire snaps out a harsh series of fractured syllables that sound something like save-your-flib-gibbeting-voice-idiot.

Rio, the troupe momma bear and directress winces and holds her hands to her throat, motioning for Max to cut it out until the show.

Max blushes and skitters off stage mumbling quiet apologies.

“Hey, Jase.” Patrick's grinning up at Jason, Kurtis hanging devilishly off of his arm. “Matt's looking for you. Says it's important.”

“Oh fuck.” Jason mumbles, pulling the shutter over his light, abruptly crashing the stage into darkness.

Of course it would be Matt. Of course it would be important. Of course it would be now, not five minutes before the most important cue to cue of hell week.

He jogs down the catwalk, tripping over a coiled light cord and murmuring a string of expletives so extensive and foul that he's eternally grateful that Firkus has switched his wireless headset off the main sound channel. He flies down the ladder after he regains his footing, hopping over the last four rungs.

A hand grabs Jason by his jacket hood, dragging him backwards into the darkened lights storage room at the base of the ladder. Another hand snakes out, covering his mouth. The first hand crawls achingly slowly down his side, coming to rest heavily on his hip. He's suddenly pulled back against his kidnapper's chest. His warm. . . firm. . .

Fucking A.

Jason digs his elbow behind him, jamming it into the other boy's ribcage with a sharp twist. His captor lets him go with a curse and he whirls around.

“What the hell Lent! You can't fucking do that to people!”

Matt's blue-green eyes are twinkling mercilessly, a new face painted over his in thick jagged lines of contour and shadow, his tempestuous mop of sandy dirty-blonde hair gelled back into a swirling cowlick. “Hey there baby,” he croons. “Haven't ya missed me?”

“Goddamnit, Matt. They told me it was an emergency. Fuck, I've got to get back up there for the tech run.”

Jason turns away, but before his ragged converse even hit the second rung of the scaffolding, Matt's hand is warm and demanding and on his wrist. Matt pulls Jason down from the ladder, his other arm wrapping around Jason's waist. Before Jason can even muster a single word, they're back in the darkness of the lights closet.

“Matthew James Lent-I'm warning you! If I'm late Rio will have my head on a plate and my dick on the wall and then I will come back from the dead and sick Firkus _and_ Kurtis on you.”

“I meant what I said Jason. It is an emergency.” Matt hoarses, his breath hot, his chest heaving. He jerks forward, dragging Jason against his chest. And then his lips are swelling against Jason's, in all their rough, sexy glory.

For a split second the universe is revolving around them. In the silence of the lights room the raw passion and heat builds uncontrollably.

And then, Firkus' voice comes booming down from the sound booth.

“”Aight Bitches, listen up, God here! SOUND CHECK and then cue to cue! Places maggots!” And before Jason can even blink, Matt's gone.

And Jason is left alone in the storage room, late for tech run, and flustered as fuck.

 

* * *

 

The tech run goes surprisingly well for the amount of light cues they actually had programmed when they started.

They started, much to the dismay of everyone, with ten lightboard cues. Kurtis almost blew a gasket twice just thinking about the non-existent cue sheet.

The amount of cues that the designer had provided was something around 100. But somehow, by the grace of god and Bianca Del Rio, they had done it.

They had programmed all 80 essential light and sound cues in 30 minutes, checked all 25 mics in 5, and done a spot run in less than two.

By the time Firkus was done, his fingers were numb and he had tears of exhaustion and happiness streaming down his face. They had finished the final, glorious tech run. They had done it, goddamn it. And they were all still alive. It was tremendous.

Currently, Jason is propped up against the box of unused LED's, listening blankly to the newest escapade of Wendell Dent's love life. The techies aren't called down for notes until after the acting notes are long over, and due to the incredible amount of actor fuck-ups during the tech run, the techies are each individually settling in for a long winter's nap.

Wendell is really getting into it, the catwalk sways with his each and every hand gesture. How he snuck away from the ninjas and made it up here, Jason doesn't know. But he did.

Jason is staring at a speck on the ceiling. It's not that he doesn't care, just that he's too focused on his own woes to worry about Wendell's latest fling with some hot college girl.

Jason has to stop.

He has to stop thinking about Matt.

It's been two months since they broke it off, and it's about three months past due to let it the fuck go.

“My thoughts exactly!” Wendell exclaims.

Whoops. Apparently Jason hadn't been as _mentally_ vocal as he'd thought.

“You give the best advice Jase.” Wendell leans over and gives Jason a kiss, a large, elaborate smack on the lips. Before Jason can even think about how he's supposed to react, Wendell pulls away. “Nope.” He snaps his fingers, pointing at Jason with a dazzling smile. “Still straight.”

“Your loss.” Jason mumbles.

Wendell lays a heavy, sweaty, hand on Jason's shoulder. “Just go talk to him. Get your head out of his pants, get his out of yours, and talk to him.”

“The problem,” Jason sighs as he draws a vaguely phallic shape in the dust with his pinkie finger, “isn't that his head is in my pants. It's that his head was in Sanderson's pants. Is in Sanderson's pants. Fuck, I don't know.”

Wendell smiles knowingly.

“He's sort of committed to you though. He's never even sort-of commited to fucking around casually with Sanderson.”

“Yup. That's what they all say.”

They sit in silence for a moment until Kurtis calls for the run crew to congregate for notes over the headset.

Wendell departs with a small wave and his customary jazz hand salute.

Jason sighs and stares once again up at the speck on the ceiling. And he begins to think.

 

* * *

 

The show is a musical, non-traditional in values, non-presentational in style.

A contemporary pseudo-realistic mess when they started, it's now evolved into a slightly more realized contemporary pseudo-realistic mess.

It's a highly controversial show, and a huge risk for the fourth musical of Rio's directing career, even if it's only at the high school level.

About a Lamp, it's called.

It follows the efforts of young Hugh Hughes, played by Patrick, and his new wife Mariah, played by the immensely talented Courtney, and their efforts to spread awareness about the dangers of door-to-door salesmen.

The protagonist, (or antagonist, Jason is never quite sure), is a door-to-door lamp salesman by the name of Schmidt, played by Danny.

The problem of the show is that, as the story progresses, you're never sure who the villain is supposed to be.

The show opens on various chorus member salesmen committing deplorable acts and taking advantage of people and generally being fiscally irresponsible. Then a young salesman murders Mariah and Hugh's cat during a sale. Hugh takes up a general wariness about the eerily similar looking members of the salesmen squad. However, Hugh and Mariah's quest to inform the public about what they were actually buying from door-to-door salesmen quickly dissolves into a mad witch hunt of people who are just trying to make a living. Hugh struggles with the line between desperation and evil when in the end it's revealed that Mariah has become obsessed with killing the salesman that killed her cat, and has a collection of salesman briefcases with blood on them in the basement of their house. Mariah begs Hugh to help her kill Schmidt, the final salesman left after all of the massacres, and he agrees. They bring Schmidt down to the basement, under the pretense of a lamp sale and fitting. Mariah stabs him with the knife but cannot penetrate his skin. She asks Hugh to do something, he looks at Schmidt and smashes him on the back of the head with the lamp. They find a strange beeping button at the base of his neck. They press it, and he spontaneously combusts and then they go on their merry way, never to speak of it again.

Some of Jason's favorite songs are: “Collaboration, Assimilation” and “To Do a Deed that Must be Done”.

In all truthfulness, Jason really does love this show. Sure it's strange, sure the light cues are hard as fuck to get right, sure it's bloody and violent, and yeah, it makes very little sense, but Jason loves the moral ambiguousness, he loves how little ambition the show has.

It winds you around in circles and then brings you right back to where you were before it started. He loves the stark portrait the show paints of both corporate America and of the homestead lifestyle. He loves how every single audience member is sure to leave with a frown resting on their face and a deep confusion settling into their wary smile.

Is Mariah right for loving an animal so dearly? Is she right to obsess over the one who had murdered her cat so carelessly? Is she right to care about mother nature more than fellow man?

Is Hugh right to drop everything for a woman he loves but knows so little about? Is he right to agree to help her with her campaign of advocacy, and then later, a murder? What motivates him, truly, when he smashes Schmidt over the head? His wife or his newly grown hatred?

Is Schmidt truly a human, displaying so much emotion? Or is the most emotional character in the musical, the most human character in the entire show ultimately reduced to a cold and unfeeling robot?

In the end, is it all just about a lamp?

So yeah, Jason thinks, it's pretty fucking cool.

The tech notes are nothing unusual.

_Faster set transition for act two, ninjas._

_Speed up those sound cues, Firkus._

_Hold the spot on Schmidt for just a tad bit longer during "Collaboration, Assimilation”, Jason._

The techies nod their heads and scribble down notes and suck down what's left of their coffee.

By the time they're let go, it's only ten. Jason wants to jump up and down for joy and he does, loudly. Being sent home at ten during hell week is almost unheard of.

Jason checks his phone as he heads for his beat up Toyota Corolla.

There's a few messages in his group chat with Max and David.

**david (8:45 pm)- season seven viewing party soon?**

**max (9:37 pm)- soon!**

Jason rolls his eyes as he types a quick response.

**Jason (10:12 pm)- after lamp is dead and gone you fools**

As much as he loves RuPaul's Drag Race, there just isn't enough time to get emotionally invested in the new season with everything that's going on for Musical.

There's another three messages from Matt which Jason swiftly deletes, one from the girl in his spanish class that he's supposed to be working on a group project with which he ignores, and one from Rio asking him when he'll be available to help re-organize the light gel cabinet.

The light gel cabinet hasn't been touched since the founder of the troupe, a hairy old woman named Kasha Davis had crammed a hundred or so light gels into it, stuck a feather on it and called it macaroni.

As much as Jason wants to reply with something sassy like: _never_ , or _sorry Jason Dardo is dead, this is satan speaking, unfortunately Jason will be unavailable every day for the rest of eternity_ , he knows that he can't. Rio deserves more respect than that. So he shoots off a quick: _after hell week :) it shall be done Bee_ , shuts his phone off and drives the fuck home, blasting Take On Me by a-ha all the way.

He notices the note jammed under his windshield wiper when he pulls into his driveway.

Dear sir,

I would like to inform you that

you have a superb ass.

-truffles

Jason snorts, jamming the note into his pocket. Like he needs a secret admirer named truffles to tell him that.


	3. hi there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an open letter to huruhara

dear friendship,

i'm taking a 'new light' hiatus.

so here's the thing: I need to finish drive by first. then I will pour my soul into this, I swear it. I should have learned my lesson by starting drive by before I was done with come through, and stressing my way through that whole deal but I am obviously incapable of learning anything at all. so here we are again :)

I have so many great cracky, cheesy, fluffy, funny, angsty things planned for this fic (i'm thinking rotating pov, with main pearlet but lots of random side plots and love triangles and things that are like little one shots and they go sort of crazy but everything gets resolved at the end). I just don't want you to think that I am abandoning your gift, because I have every intent to finish it and I'm probably, eventually going to end up posting it on tumblr for more feedback because I need people to read my writing more than I need a social life haha. it's gonna be really great and very worth the wait, I swear on Violet Chachki's 19 inch waist. I just need more time to flesh out the ideas I have. . . some more time when my every waking moment isn't consumed by drive by. (I'm actually on a snack break from drive by right now. . . :] nutella is beautiful)

drive by is looking like it will have 4-5 more chapters probably and then I'll figure out what to do about siren's call (lol that fic is quite the mess right now to be completely honest) and then I will focus all of my attention onto this again. I just want to make this truly wonderful, because you deserve nothing less than everything I can possibly give you. thank you so very, very much for all of your patience, your kindness and your loving and unflappable support. love you lots darling, we'll talk very soon. <3

\- Izzy  
^3^


End file.
